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OH MASTER DISPENSER OF GRACE!
It is like a wave so high
Yet does not slam us
Into the sand
It almost tickles
It sets us in a state of joy
When we are in a painful way
As we stray from the hope of
That great come and get it day
Like good news
In today’s paper or
A great golf shot
Leaving us to wonder
How we pulled it off
Like a State Trooper
Walking away from our car
With no ticket in hand
And our numb, tingling
Vacuum of joy
It is that feeling
From nowhere
We didn’t ask for
Or deserve
Like a seat left
For us in reserve
It is like a complement
Or look that says
We’re pretty
Like a shock
We hope is
Not a crock
It is unexpected joy
That when it comes
Opens our eyes
To the beautiful things
In our view
God knows what to do
At times when we are blue
He is the master dispenser
Of Grace to me and you
A Prayer for Enemies Who Should Be Friends
We really show no signs of bending do we…..
Or humbling ourselves before God……
I think He is showing us both where we are really at……
I think He is calling us to step aside from our pride….
He’s smiling, maybe chuckling…..
He knows we both think we are right but He has all the wisdom…..
He could stand before each of us right now and burn holes through our arguments…….
He could flatten each of us with the truth…….
The truth we
Don’t want to hear because it would ruin our strongest points….
Maybe He is talking to our Guardian angels
Right now……
They have watched us from the beginning….
Perhaps they have discussed us in our darkest moments…..
When we made them sad….
I think of God, leaning toward each of them
And whispering……
We can’t hear Him….
Do you wonder what
He is saying….?
We will have to wait for His next move……
That is the best We can
Do right now…..
Looking at what we did in the past tells me……
We are in no condition to make the next move……
We’d better wait on Him.
Amen
Resurrection
I picture a great satellite
Circling the earth
Scanning it for faith
In its various stages…
Faith’s beginning
Is blackness.
The brain’s analytics
Scan for it,
Finding nothing.
Satellite readings:
Silent.
Then comes the rumors.
Clouds mixed with curiosity
Always someone pushing
The story.
Santa lasts for a decade
Or so, with a cadre
Of minor players:
Easter bunny, tooth fairy,
Card tricks and lines of
Magicians taunting us
To believe.
Satellite readings:
Silent but for
A crackle.
There are credible stories
Taunting the analytical
Minds of billions:
Cancer gone, prayers
Seemingly answered.
The stories of ancient
Men
The tales of old wives.
Satellite readings:
Loud static. Then silence.
The constant is hardly noticed:
We want to believe.
Waiving off our mind’s eye
We taste the taunt
Of dreams beyond
what we can see.
We find ourselves
Retelling stories
Always finding audience
Keeping the reality of
Doubt at bay.
Satellite readings:
A din of unnerving
Resilience.
Then cometh the inevitable
Suffering of life.
Faith is bitch slapped
By waives of disappointment,
Gut pain that lasts for years.
Inevitably someone puts
Their god front of us
Assuring us that
Their god is God.
It is then that even
The strongest of
Those whose desire
To believe
Reject the stories,
The promises.
Satellite readings:
Unexplained return of
Silence. Is there any faith
on the earth?
Easter Sunday Morning.
Millions remember,
Quietly doubting,
Yet quietly assenting
With the other doubters.
This is the ultimate
Perfect answer.
Only the hurt,
The badly broken
And the old.
Only those who
Haven’t lived long enough,
Or loved completely,
Or forgiven those who
Made them suffer
Can actually desire.
Resurrection.
The perfect answer.
The only right answer.
It hangs there in front
Of us,
Hopelessly wanting it
With no proof to satisfy
Our want.
Satellite reading:
Major Tom taps to see
If the faith monitor
Is working
Or is it dead.
Jesus, the Risen One,
Your believers persist.
Some of them would
Make me believe!
Almost.
What is it
That keeps them
Afloat as the most
Of us are sinking.
How have they
Broken the bondage,
Found the cloud of Faith
On which they float?
Satellite reading:
Sudden brilliant flashes
Of light.
Brilliant hues, colors
Unimaginable.
Unforgettable.
Then silence.
The earth still awaits
The final
Answer.
One day all will know.
For now, only those
Called early
Truly get it.
No satellite can read
The timing of
True faith’s coming.
Yet come it will.
There is no other
Perfect answer.
No one but Jesus
Promised it.
You shall see
And believe.
This 4th of July is disturbing to me. So, I cried. I tried making sense of it all as I found myself:
Sleeping With Dead Soldiers
He tasted sea salt
Somehow feeling nothing.
Feet and legs overhead
Noise was awful.
This one, he saw
his blood.
It hurt so bad.
Then, the scream.
MAMA, HELP ME!
Another never saw
A black man
Before boot camp.
Russell, he liked him,
Was dying..
Broken and blood red
He ran to Russell
Just in time to see his
Last breath lift to heaven.
Then he fell on top
And their blood met.
Joined forever as
They left.
Nam was different
He took his last drag
From the barrel
Of his gun
Back home and safe
We turned on the TV
He clutched his radio
As they dropped him
Into hell.
He was swarmed
By angry little men.
Could he see their
Grandchildren sewing?
Could he see his nephews
Wearing T shirts
Made in Viet Nam?
This morning of fourths
So close to the end
Of it all
I lay with them
In their graves
Listening
We wait for life
Again here.
Yet we long to hear
What is going on
Above our unseen longing.
What is this we hear?
Fighting and fire.
Men in uniform Like them
Shot, blood red,
By the friendly fire
Of hate.
Black women screaming
“My life matters!!“
Russell bled on his way
To heaven.
No one questioned
That he mattered.
Another cries, “reparations!”
“For what you did
You bastard Slave masters!”
“I want the money they took.”
And comfort money can’t give.
I feel the wincing of my friends
As we lay together
In the unseen.
Dead heroes, not making
Sense if it.
We are dead. They are angry.
It seems we are
Better off dead.
We have our hope
We can rest in it.
I, uncomfortable
In the company of
Giants,
Dead but alive,
God! They aren’t
Much older than 17!
And I, 75,
Still alive
Am honored
In this moment of
waiting with them.
We are of one mind
Here in the unseen world.
We wait
We cannot scream
Anymore here.
Up there they fight
Over the past
We, down here,
We know there is hope.
They only see their
Discontent.
Jack Johnson sings
“Upside Down”
In our ears.
“Is this the way
It’s supposed to be?”
If the truth be told, I am a writer, Poetry is what flows most freely from inside.
Here is some of it:
Baby Steps
We wish to jump, to fly, to gobble life up with
A passion.
Do not be so foolish.
You are called to make your mark
While you are here.
Not by giant leaps
Not by a walk of
Newsreel greatness. We humans
Must start with
Baby steps.
Mark your steps
Not with the wobbly insecurity of a babe.
Though your steps be small
May they be taken
As a believer.
Believe you have been given
A purpose uniquely suited
To the gifts God has given you.
Though shrouded deep in your soul
Your purpose will become clear
One baby step at a time.
.
You desire a dance that only you can do.
It is in you. It is in you.
It longs to tell you that you
Need not Fred Astaire, nor any famed one
To teach you your dance.
Take baby steps within the unknown.
Let them be
Simply steps!
Embrace the mystery.
Who purposed your purpose?
Who saw the dance that beckons you?
Who saw you in that dance?
Who created it knowing it was yours?
God Himself!
Your steps
Will be met by the artful arms of a creative spirit
Not the scorning eye of a taskmaster.
You are held and balanced.
You are believed in.
Take those tiny steps however small.
Dare not value them lest you undervalue them.
Whatever you think, your imaginings
Cannot express even
A shadow of the true worth
You hold within you.
Again. Do it again. Again now.
And again.
Step by baby
Step.
The steps in your mind
Ask to flow in certainty.
They ask you to embody them.
Though not yet perfected
The bold steps of perfection
Will come.
Glide now in your belief
As you take another step.
Though these first steps
May feel frail
They are not.
They are your belief in action.
They are your eternal hope for a real life.
They are your love longing to kiss life itself.
Stay a believer in the small steps!
Take one and then another.
Put away past fears.
See now that fear is a robber and a thief.
Live no longer one giant step from a miracle.
Embrace your small steps in anticipation.
You know in your heart of
A longing for your dance among the stars.
Now live it!
Not in gulps
One baby step at a time!
I was thinking of pilots flying home a cross the channel after a bombing run:
Bomb Bay
I shouldn’t have taken off
With such Bravado
Fuel is plenty
When you are twenty
Our bombs are dropped away
We have closed the bomb bay
I see the shore line
My engines are not fine
I want to dine
I need some wine
I want to sleep
But the water is deep
I am still a youth
That’s the truth
I still say
I want to live another day
How old should one be to die?
I would rather fly
I need more fuel
Not this duel
With death
If we make it
I will tell my kids
You were a few drops
Of gas away
From never seeing this day
The young have not wisdom
They are driven
By futile forces
Learning to pray
That is what I will say
I prayed that day
That I’d see you today
And teach you to pray My Dance With God
I think you may have this one….
It’s never too late:
To take a slower more authentic road
To follow your own bent
To have courage when you are passed by
To smile when the setback comes
To remember God is always there
To find happiness in Memories
To cool your jets and hedge your bets
To smile just because you’re alive
To give your smile away today
To enjoy your path and feel no wrath
To expect a perfect ending
To pray the prayer of the humble
To have the thankfulness of a beggar
To rejoice in the good fortune of others
To always expect love from above
To let it flow through you
To believe love never fails
To believe love is endless
To know the workings of love such that you turn it on wherever you are.
It is never to late.
Poem about hands trying to find their purpose……
Hands
Patty cake bakery
Baker man!
You use flour
We, only our hands
Here’s the church
Here’s the steeple
Open the door
And see all the people.
Hands for play
Are the children’s
All day.
See the little hands grow.
Hands for holding,
Connecting our hearts
As we skip and sway
Holding rope to jump
Our little hearts pump
As older folks look on.
Then to school
Hands hold their
First tool.
The golden rule
Crafting letters
Spelling out our days
Crayons, our delight,
Take away the fright
Of growing,
Gliding us down
Rainbows to pots
Of gold!
Some hands learn
to lead,
Others are better
At loving
The noblest of hands
Are the ones that heal.
All kinds of poverty
Teach innocent hands
To fight
Awaiting the gracious
Hands that heal
While striving for
Their right
Searching for the light
Praying hands of
The Older ones
Pray unceasingly
For the children
For love slipping away
Let thy hands be grace
With fingers like lace
Covering a broken world
With healing and beauty
For a better day.
I was making popcorn the other night. It gave me opportunity to express much that I have learned from a lifetime of believing what I was taught about God before I began to listen to what He was telling me in my spirit.
Popcorn Jesus
Deep inside His skillet
The searing heat swells
It is a hell of sorts
The only hell
He ever made.
Hell with a purpose
Hell to be thankful for
Hell with a burn
Hell that makes us turn
Away from self
Off that shelf
That keeps us
Luke warm.
Spit not worthy
Of His lips.
Some say He saves people
Some say He sends some
To hell forever.
Some say He is
Meek and mild.
I remember once
He was hot
And wild.
Temple money changers
Knew to scatter.
Jesus ain’t no
Hell bent savior
Jesus is a people
Popper!
He knows we are
As a kernel of corn.
We are worn
In confusion
Prone to
Delusion
Desperately in need
Of a holy fusion.
He knows
how to get us
How to sweat us
How to fret us
Until we learn to win.
Even the dullest
Of us
Who think we
Choose Him
Finally awaken.
When the heat
Gets its hottest
Breathing its heaviest
Quiet its loudest
No air is left.
Then, pop!
Then another
Then many, many
More!
We thought we only
Needed the sinners prayer.
Told to take control
Make salvation happen.
We didn’t need his heat
Nor His blazing skillet.
Many a hardened
Kernel thinks it
Long ago jumped
Out of the fire as
The magic Words
Were spoken.
They never yet
Have met
The popper God
The pop corn Jesus.
All do, all will
In His time
Not ours.
I don’t know what I think of the fear.
I have always felt comfortable
near the edge of “doin right”.
The end of life got my father
15 years earlier than I am.
I have watched the vibrant,
the loving
and the so much alive
pass in the blink of an eye.
Do I deserve the more I have?
It’s a silly question.
I find afraid is
An imposter.
So I step into silent forces
Each day unawares
Being willing to be surprised
Or calmed
Or satisfied.
Even to whisper
Final words Like
James Dean’s
“We’re not going to
Make it.”
Not even knowing
The mess
He just made.
I am willing to sleep
In the arms of a God
I cannot comprehend,
I care not about
My tiny last step.
I have have had
so many
Greater ones.
To my friends here. I wrote this while listening to the Christmas concert an my wife’s school. Our celebration of Christmas with all its joy is so dissonant with the pain and suffering in this world.
I never get used to it.
I am sure it will never be resolved except by the ultimate coming of Christ too us all…….
Christmas Glory
Sounds of Christmas are
Ringing now. Singing now.
Bright lights in a row
Define our villages.
Glittering trees on
The hill for all to see.
A time of best dress
And foot forward
The best one
Of course.
I do not oppose
The Joy but I wonder
If we have stolen it.
No, we are but a precursor.
Under a bridge
Near icy waters
The steely wind blows
Freezing them.
Across our towns
And villages
Hidden like ghosts
They Fleet,
The flotsam
And jetsam, our
Extended family.
Nary one of us
Dare to go there
With our Christmas
Hells bells.
Our bells are Hells bells
To them.
Their Christmas
Delight does not toll
For them. with them.
The forlorn
Who know not how
To read the notes
Of Christmas joy
nor feel them.
To them our Joy
Is an unknown
Or forgotten
Pleasure.
Ripped away one day.
I no longer pity
Them. For they are
The least of our
Brethren and
So the greatest.
I long for the day,
Though maybe not
in this
Life,
When they are
The first.
We will be in the
Audience. Some,
Lucky to be in the
Back row.
We will be overjoyed
To see them. They,
who
In this life,
We briefly passed
by without a word.
Indeed we are failing,
The wind railing
In and out of
The holes in their rags.
It is tragedy. It is
Bound for Victory.
We cannot steal
It from them
by our hesitancy
To help nor by
Our faulty Activism.
We need to know
Here in this life
The poor will always
Be with us.
And in the next
They will lead us.
Dare to be poor.
In your lonely
Moments
In your anquish
In your lowly
Moments.
Save your gushing
goodness
For January and Feb.
Don’t be a celeb in December.
But one desirous
Of the riches
Of your own poverty.
So, there is room
For suffering in and out of
Our Christmas glory.
Let Our suffering
be linen
And lace that outlines
Our humanity
And makes us one
With the ragged ones
Living under
The bridge.
I wanted to send this very short video of a magnificent wave out to friends with thoughts that it evoked…..
GOD WAVE
I wish to well up with emotion
Like a great wave
Which leaves my heart in awe,
Which overtakes my senses
With the bliss of helpless wonder.
I wish to rain tears of joy
From that God wave.
I wish waves and tears to drop gently
On a cold world
And all of the remaining
Cold and deadened hearts
That live so lonely here!
And if there is such a thing
As really letting go
Or a surrender that is sweet
Or even believing in the all loving
Arms of God
Then I, in this moment,
Pray the blessing to see
Miracles and thus grow conviction
That all will
One day
Be perfect.
I beg our Father God,
Who is great enough
To be our mother,
To give me words
Or if it pleases Him
Just a smile
For someone or anyone
Or everyone who
Needs to believe.
I ask only a particle of God
And the power therein.
I ask that it sparkle in
Each of us!
I want the thrill of seeing it.
I want that feeling.
I want intimacy with
The Great I AM such
That I am where I belong
For a second, or two,
Or forever, if you please!
I ask it for you and I.
I ask it for the world
Knowing He will give it
To us all.
The Dance
I forget
You remember.
I fall
You lift me up.
I mess up
You clean up.
I get angry
You smile.
I doubt
You give me faith.
I punish
You forgive.
I squawk
You create music.
I agitate
You calm.
I sin
You perfect.
I freeze at evil
You melt evil.
My sight is short
Yours is long.
I am afraid of the dark
You are the light.
I am getting old
You are ever new.
I judge from a dark corner
You judge from heaven.
Thoughts grind me
You even find me there.
I rush
You are a wave meeting the sand.
I hate me when I fail
You love me even then.
I hide
You uncover.
I fear
You vanish my fears.
I grunt
You give me music.
I waste and squander
You rescue and renew.
LORD, DANCE WITH ME!!!!
Prayer is……
Praise for the ONE who
Holds all
Cares for all
Knows all
Times all
Releases all
Heals all
Teaches through time
Brings all to completion
Recovers all
Knew our prayer before we did
Has a perfect plan to answer our prayer
And sooo much more
Our praise for the ONE LOVING GOD is the perfect and most powerful expression of prayer. Praise says it all!
Prayer is……
Praise for the ONE who
Holds all
Cares for all
Knows all
Times all
Releases all
Heals all
Teaches through time
Brings all to completion
Recovers all
Knew our prayer before we did
Has a perfect plan to answer our prayer
And sooo much more
Our praise for the ONE LOVING GOD is the perfect and most powerful expression of prayer. Praise says it all!
Posted this a year ago. Recent events come to mind. The breach of race again threatens our seemingly helpless will.
And I ponder once again our feeble independence from God’s spirit:
We revive old battles
That are long over.
Yet they live still among
the triggers in our mind.
Morality shouts
“Forgive!”
Wisdom quietly
Whispers “Physician,
Heal thyself”.
Love languishes
Behind our fears
While reason
Willy nilly rattles midst
Our lack of answers.
Have we forgotten
How to believe?
Faith is our lifeline.
Love?
That is what others lack,
“Not I” shouts our ego!
Only hope remains.
Hope, which desperately
Needs faith and love
On each arm
To walk.
But we wait
For the next flurry
Of disturbing trouble.
Riots to start
Breaking news on
Which to speculate.
We hide behind our
Political fodder.
It is time to quiet
This nonsense
And listen with
Our spirit.
Then life will
Give us opportunity,
Not for great things.
For small, powerful
Followings of spirit
Which move the willing
Emboldens the meek
Believes God’s power
Gives Him the glory for
What only He can do.
The Sounds of Slowing Down
As I weary of the demands
Clashing in my head,
Unsettlingly settling
In my chest.
Then,
Like the prattling
Clacks
Of a slowing train
Rolling humbly
Into its station,
I tap on
The prayer brakes
Of my soul
As it releases
The promises
I so often forget.
I peek ahead
To that always
Quiet station.
It is never bustling
There.
Sometimes I get
Off that train
As it breathes out
Its steam, like
A gasping soul.
Often times
I just sit there
Trying to imagine
The lonely face
Of God.
Who always
Awaits my visiting.
I don’t know what I think of the fear.
I have always felt comfortable
near the edge of “doin right”.
The end of life got my father
15 years earlier than I am.
I have watched the vibrant,
the loving
and the so much alive
pass in the blink of an eye.
Do I deserve the more I have?
It’s a silly question.
I find afraid is
An imposter.
So I step into silent forces
Each day unawares
Being willing to be surprised
Or calmed
Or satisfied.
Even to whisper
Final words Like
James Dean’s
“We’re not going to
Make it.”
Not even knowing
The mess
He just made.
I am willing to sleep
In the arms of a God
I cannot comprehend,
I care not about
My tiny last step.
I have have had
so many
Greater ones.
Prayer is……
Praise for the ONE who
Holds all
Cares for all
Knows all
Times all
Releases all
Heals all
Teaches through time
Brings all to completion
Recovers all
Knew our prayer before we did
Has a perfect plan to answer our prayer
And sooo much more
Our praise for the ONE LOVING GOD is the perfect and most powerful expression of prayer. Praise says it all!
When You’re Fake
Too much time on how you look
When you could have
Read a book.
You think of how you’ll sound
Instead of being true.
Desperate to resound.
You wonder if
You’ll feel their praise
Their applause is
where You graze.
When you are down
You wear a frown
It looks like empathy
But what you want
Is sympathy.
Time for a showering
Of God’s love
Lathered with the soap
Of your self-worth.
Your face will be lifted
With authentic smiles
So bright.
Now You are getting
It right.
The world
Loves you now!
I don’t know what I think of the fear.
I have always felt comfortable
near the edge of “doin right”.
The end of life got my father
15 years earlier than I am.
I have watched the vibrant,
the loving
and the so much alive
pass in the blink of an eye.
Do I deserve the more I have?
It’s a silly question.
I find afraid is
An imposter.
So I step into silent forces
Each day unawares
Being willing to be surprised
Or calmed
Or satisfied.
Even to whisper
Final words Like
James Dean’s
“We’re not going to
Make it.”
Not even knowing
The mess
He just made.
I am willing to sleep
In the arms of a God
I cannot comprehend,
I care not about
My tiny last step.
I have have had
so many
Greater ones.
